Chamber 23 Blues
by Stormiie
Summary: The world of Pokemon has changed and when two brothers and a human are sent to an army organization called P.O.P that is meant for training Pokemon for the battlefeild They will make a stand through music. The only question whose a friend and whose a foe?
1. Breakout

**Name- **Chamber 23 Blues

**Story Summary- **This is a story of two brothers, and of a place called _The Army. _P.O.P is an Pokemon Operation, their mission? Use Pokemon as slaves and experiments to the army. Who will stop this madness? Tyson, Nuri, and Chamber 23 of course.

**Characters introduced- **

Tyson, the narrator for now, an Quilava with an major attitude but a soft spot for his younger brother. He hates his mother for her betrayal, but thats for another time...

Nuri is Tyson's younger brother, sweet and charming, the poor 1-year-old has a killer stutter and a miserble aura. He yearns for the love his mother gave him. He wears a yellow scarf, a rememberance of his forgotten mother.

**Chapter Summary- **Tyson and Nuri are introduced. So are the mysteries of their long-lost mother. Not only that but the Breakout begins.

**Authors Notes- **Hey, this is Stabb. I was currently 'Jordan And Kirby' but I decided to start over. Dont worry, J & K's stories will be updated but for now they are on hold due to writers block. Please review I believe this story has tons of potential. Dont worry, I did a few chapters before hand so they'll come regulary.

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_**"From now until the end of the world, we and it shall be remembered.    
We few, we Band of Brothers.    
For he who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother."**_

_- William Shakespeare ("King Henry V")_

**Chapter 1 – The Breakout**

"Damn, you couldn't pick any _other _day for it to fucking snow!?!"

The frost seemed to bite all the way down Tyson's toes and eat up his ankles, snow floated on his eyelashes and his nose – all numb. Of course, his girth was bubbly and warm, feeling as if a respirator compared to his fingers that touched the mushy moist flakes of fresh snow, but that was only natural, most flame pokemon power came from the flaps in their bellies, which was always a comfortable temperature…. as for everything else though…  
"Ow, ow, ow, cold, cold, stupid perspiration…" Tyson muttered through clenched teeth, as he trudged to the waist high snow that was sticking to him like hot butter stuck to a lukewarm knife. He bent his curved head down to shield his shoulders from the blundering wind that was licking his back – making his whole body squirm with the unnatural cold. Tyson was never used to cold… And his back was the most vulnerable place in his whole body, it all quivered, but when the frozen licks brushed his back he felt jolts of shivers spiral through him and an unexpected urge to scream his head off. It hurt so damn much as it matted the heat sensitive orange spots on his back, that they began to glow dimly, and break open, in order to fight of the cold threatening to freeze the inner core of Tyson's power.  
Tyson was a flame pokemon or what other pokemon enjoyed calling them _Ignis _meaning 'to set the fire upon' in Latin. He was a Quilava, evolution of their counterpart Cyndaquil, and devolution of Typhlosion – probably the strongest thing in the heart of the Gyre, his home. (The Gyre meaning 'pedestal' was named because of the unusual hill shapes that was found throughout the quaint forest valley, the twists and turns and bellowed openings in their bases were common and earned the place of its nickname. But humans just call it the Viridian.) But unlike many Ignis pokemon, Quilava's ignition pouch are not located in the under bearing of their throats (Like, for example, Charmanders, and Vulpixes) they do not ignite the fire; by the mixture of hot helium breath and flammable liquids in their saliva. They are located in their nerves and liver. The blood has a range of hormones able to spark and light, and the liver creates the fire through cleansing – and in a matter of seconds white hot flames begin the emit from the Quilava's tail, mouth, and back, thanks to the connections of nerves piecing it all together. And with not much surprise, the most sensitive joint of fire was Tyson's "Sunspots" (his own fond little nickname) and the wind was tearing the binds of skin open easily – black puss leaking from their mouths…  
Ty mounded some of the black puss together on his back, he knew, that the puss was really a defense mechanism created by his body and identifiable by instinct. The puss would harden and bunch together to create a makeshift seal as his Sunspots warmed gradually - it would keep the cold at bay from killing him.  
"Fucking disgusting this is…" He groaned as he felt it tighten its grip on his Sunspots, though lifesaving, it was not clean…  
Tyson peered through the white lashes from the lumpy snow, and sneezed softly. He had a mission. An important one might he say, he was on the search for charcoal. Now, as you must've guessed it wasn't like charcoal that were pounded together in grills, this charcoal was so old and natural, it was almost as if dust in the paws of the Quilava. The charcoal wasn't for him mostly either, (even though he was sure he'd chug down a rough handful) it was for his brother – Nuri.  
Nuri, the young little Cyndaquil, head buried in the clouds of stories and dreams, innocent and naïve about life – in other words young, exactly a year old. Even though Tyson thought of himself as an wise member of the earth he knew that he was young and foolish also, only three years, he was abandoned to care for his sweet little brother.

What a joy.

And as a growing young Cyndaquil, Nuri needed doses of charcoal every month to regularly feed his fire intake, it was only natural to tend to the small flame stirring in his belly, barely enough to make his back embark in sparks. This was so his flaming attacks would strengthen in time, and protect his belly with a firm line of char to keep it from destroying itself in ashes. Natural for all Cyndaquil's until they evolved. And as seeing the supply had dwindled with the strange forte of cool, it was becoming more demanding of the little beast. So he was off, to the caverns, where most of the minerals were buried beneath the scrabble of vines and twisted tree roots.  
Tyson blundered a bit as he began to trot close to it now, his heart rate at neck breaking speed as he leaned down from the minor cliff that hung above the caverns like a drapery over an curtain pole. He was always anxious when he looked over that sheer fall, it wasn't much really, and he had done it about a hundred times in his youth, but every time his neck arched over the tumble his heart would race and the air in his lungs would hold still, his forehead musky in sweat. Sighing, Tyson took a few cautious steps back, like stepping into a bath, he then lurched eyes squeezed tight – and he was suspended in air, in calming black…till gravity took over. His chest hit first, and _hard, _he moaned as he felt the beads of blood probe from his chest along with the rosy red skin now spreading over the slick black. Good thing the bucket was tied _upwards _his chest, or he'd be in real trouble. Tyson struggled as he shakily lumbered on all fours, readjusting the pale yellow bucket tied with a piece of yarn round his neck uncomfortably. It itched horrendously. Tucking his fireproof leathery lips in the depths of his dry mouth, Tyson gave a quick yelp as he thumbed the large flower petal shaped wound on his chest, usually he never got much worse than a scrape on the knee, but this time he had hadn't been watching his feet therefore slamming into his chest instead of his bottom, which was a much more comfortable landing perch. He heaved in a breath, and then readjusted the bucket tied close to his throat – it felt as if the damned bucket was cutting of his circulation.  
Tyson turned in alarm as the sudden arousal smell of buttery oils and peppery rock awakened him, and he turned to see the cavern in its true glowing light.  
The cavern wasn't much than a few walls balled together to make a small living space no larger than a secluded closet, known for the supply of minerals and most of all the small family of agitated Spearows who just _loved _to see Tyson snooping around their home, nicking off pieces of their walls.  
"Ugh, this gets me more excited each time I come…" Tyson snarled in the dark musk of his breath and twitched his nose. It was close to Sundown, the sky a warm enchanting shade of pink and orange, so the Spearows would be resting by now, or off early on their hunt which meant a clear break for Tyson. Even with the break though, Tyson would have to be quiet, the family had always been a bit unpredictable.  
Tyson leaned low into the ground, suppressing the urge to shout when his ruby red chest heaved into the clomps of snow, and felt the frozen ice melt and surrender to the warmth in his girth. It felt a little better despite the low hiss that waved off from the melting snow, Tyson shut them tight ready for impact, nothing.

Prowling as if a Persian on the hunt, Tyson snaked his way around the dark entrance of the cavern to the side of its walls – the ashy color dully met Tyson's eyes with a glimmer, and a smile peeked from his lips. Gradually getting up, he neared the wall, one hand at the side; he brushed the chalky smell that rose in his throat and saw as the charcoal dust littered the too-white snow. Tyson grinned. He became to scratch and nibble at the wall, feeling it crumble under the power of his claws, which had incensed over the time of his evolution, God it all felt so long ago…  
Shrugging away the unwanted thoughts of his evolution, he began to fill the pale yellow bucket to the brim, the charcoal power filling his lungs with unheard power. He scooped up a handful and brought it to his lips, the dust entered and slid down his throat easily – tasteless.

The surge in his body was a holy feeling, it began to pulse in the heart of his veins and most of all his girth was retreating its comfortable warm state into a hot blinding fire. He leaned his head back, dizzy and disoriented from the power he gave a goofy smile and waddled a bit drunk in his own scalding influence.  
"Ech…._hiccup….._this be a mighty fine day eh?" Tyson commented to the faceless wrinkled boulder that sat on the edge of the cliff's run off. When there was no reply Tyson just laughed madly and tapped the end of the boulders hinds.  
"That'd be a mighty good fella eh? The day a piece of shit anyway eh?"

Tyson placed a paw over his girth, on two legs, feeling the heat sink into his fingertips he yelped and flashed his hand away as if on fire, which it sort of was, it left large red welts on his fingers.  
The unwanted pain seemed to awake Tyson from his daydreams, and he shook his head in a frantic fashion eyes wide.  
"Jeez, I really shouldn't have this stuff anymore, ugh, too…. too…. dizzy…" He slurred as he began to catch on to his consciousness. His brain felt as if it was toddling a thin strap of metal, and it was searing into its pink tissue. Rubbing his temples with the points of his knuckles he felt relief begin to flood his core as the dizziness began to fade into sheer light feet, he strolled up to the cliff – feeling the new bred power the charcoal had ignited inside him.

It didn't soap away the feeling of disgruntlement when he tilted his head to see the climb.  
"Ugh…not fun…." Tyson sighed, and tightened the bucket that hung from his neck, making sure the lid was sealed and the charcoal was safely tucked inside. He then wiped off some snow – which his body seemed to have numbed to – and popped out his claws that were hidden a ruff of fur. Nail biting into rock, he climbed, and it was a difficult process since each step had to be calculated and the claws had to dig into the earth far enough so they'd hook in like tacks to a bulletin board. His legs began to shake and tremor, since they were holding up most his weight they began to hurt terribly and Tyson was barely halfway. He growled a throaty purr, and then urged his body to keep going as his left flank claws began to sink into the rock as easily as a knife sinking into concrete. Damn it bloody well hurt. Feeling the concoction of blood matt between his fingers his brain returned to the idea of the rough made latter that had been resting in the crevice at the top of the rock formation. The snow must've eaten it away, he thought angrily thinking of the six months it took to gather all that wood, damn waste…barely lasted fall…  
He sighed, not used to this climbing experience, and as he bungled up his last few steps, he thought that maybe he'd carve grooves into the rock so that he'd never have to leap or climb again.  
As he finally rested his legs among the moist snow he sighed, the blistering fire in his girth had dimmed to its warm candlelit state, melting away the snow around him. The Quilava stood up and wobbled a bit, his legs harder than rock, he twisted the bucket so it laid upon his rose petal chest and then he was off legs straining. The run wasn't a far ways off thankfully, and Tyson's legs felt eager with the thought of being able to rest, and his haunches itched in excitement in the thought of food, which he knew was wedged between the his home's entrance and an abandoned Caterpie nest. It all made him run faster, despite the pounds of charcoal wrapped around his neck.  
In a matter of ten minutes he had made it, and the ache in his legs had weakened to his great happiness. He ducked between some dead hovering branches and saw the gully laying like an open mouth, the end of it a deep dank hole, sputtering open to him. He approached the gully, and took quiet steps to the burrow entrance, Tyson and Nuri's mother had constructed the burrow before Tyson was born, and the sides of it were looking as if able to cave in, soft lips to the mouth.  
_Mom…. _

No, no! He wouldn't think of that devil woman! Of that traitor! The woman who left both her sons, the only trace of her – a yellow scarf! His temper flared, just the thought of Nuri, with the yellow scarf tied loyally around his neck. He didn't understand what his mother had actually done. She'd left him, left him to the care of his brother.  
Tyson decided to leave his dwindling anger here, Nuri didn't deserve to be yelled at for no reason, and Tyson then leapt into the burrow.  
The soft dirt was warm thanks to the glimmering fire that was held in the small room of the burrow, it was low and weak, but the dirt radiated the hot earth and kept the place comfortably warm. Tyson nosed his way through the place, surprised by the disappearance of his brother, nothing of him for the exception of food askew on the burrow floor. Damn kid can't take care of his own crap; Tyson thought as he moodily cleaned up the mess and entered the other room – Nuri's.  
As he thought there was Nuri, huddled in the corner, his back covered in mushy dirt that served as a great blanket it almost hid all his Sunspots. The Cyndaquil twitched, eyes shut closed, and he raised his nose to the air, sniffing out Tyson. He found him,

The Cyndaquil yanked himself from sleep and had a large grin plastered to his face, his mother's scarf hung around his neck loosely and he sprang for his brothers embrace, and as intended Tyson let him,  
"B-b-brother! Your huh-huh-here!" Tyson frowned at his stutter; the boy had picked it up after a gruesome Mightyena attack, at first Tyson had tried to teach him to talk normally, but it didn't work it only lead to frustration and self-loathing to the little guy. And even though his lips stuttered, his eyes surely didn't they were bright with glee and admiration Tyson's heart burned.  
"Yeah, got your stuff here to boyo. You should take a few chugs 'fore you go to sleep."  
Tyson untied the bucket (his neck dancing with thanks) and set it to the mossy floor, unscrewing the top leaving it wide open like a bucket of black sand.  
"Brother! G-g-guess w-what? I-I fought s-s-s-s-s-om-om-m," The boy struggled with the word as it jittered off his lips, his eyes squished together hard and his body quivering he let the stutter go on until Tyson interrupted him.  
"Some?"  
"Nuh-nuh-no."  
"Somersault?"  
"No!"  
"Som—"  
"Suh-suh-suh- _Something!" _He yelled in exhaustion as the word rolled from his tongue.  
"You fought it?" Tyson asked eyes wide.  
"Wuh-wuh-well…not exactly…." Tyson quirked an eyeball at the timid Cyndaquil.  
"I _g-growled _at i-i-t! It was th-there, at the en-en-en-en _entrance, _it made a noise and wuh-wuh-wuh-went away!" He insisted, arms waving frantically. Tyson smiled with sweet admiration and nuzzled his younger brothers neck fondly.  
"I see, what do you reckon it was?" He asked quizzically.

"Erm, I d-d-on't kno-o-o-w, but it was **big." **He claimed with a large grin wiped on his face, Tyson gave a warm smile, actually relieved his brother was learning to defend himself. It always made Tyson horribly anxious when he left his baby brother to the hands of the burrow, he'd wander – with a broken heart – what Nuri would do if Tyson…. never came back. The thought chilled him; the boy was way too young to barely produce an ember, the most that came from his lungs was murky smoke. No, no, Tyson couldn't fail his brother no matter what came to him he'd fight it off with an intense flare, just so he could go home to see his baby brothers stutter. He kissed the boys forehead, and gave him a minor childish noogie. The boy squealed in excitement as the tickle fest began. Rolling in the dirt with pure laughter ringing in the burrow like bells clanging in a church. Nuri rolled on his backside, giggles toppling on his tongue as he raced out to the front of the burrow. Tyson close behind, followed, and lurched for the Cyndaquil clasping on to him with the underbelly of his paws, Nuri wriggled in his grip yelping.  
"Oh-okay! Stop, st-stop, _stop!_" He demanded, the strange authority coloring his lips. Tyson smiled, and released the tike who scrambled from his arms desperate to escape another tickling fest. Tyson then walked back to Nuri's room the bucket with the unhooked seal was still there, patiently waiting to be emptied of. Tyson beckoned Nuri to come, and the little Cyndaquil came cautiously, eyes glued to Tyson's untrustworthy hands. Tyson laughed, and then nudged the bucket to him, it pressed gently to his shin. Nuri groaned and leaned into Tyson, pushing the bucket as far as he could.

"_Brother. _I-I duh-duh-ont wanna! It ma-ma-kes me feel wuh-wuh-wuh-weird!" He whined, and buried his head into Tyson shoulder, pushing the bucket until it dipped into the moist wall. Tyson repositioned him on his lap and looked the little guy in his two big copper eyes, glimmering in disapproval.

"Now Nuri, it'll make you feel a _good _weird. And besides, you need it, it'll help you grow up big and strong." Tyson said, recalling the words his mother spoke to him when he was forced to chug down the charcoal. Nuri's scarf wavered as he fingered its wool sides.

"Ugh…i-i-its so nas-s-ty!" Nuri groaned and dipped his head back in surrender, as he finally let Tyson scarf the charcoal down his throat. It tickled like grounded pepper.  
Nuri then snarled so deeply it felt like a throaty purr in the breast of his chest. The charcoal took its normal effect, firing up his girth making his body sweat and shake. His Sunspots flared up on his back, in a enraged glowing flame, smoked curled from his nostrils and he could taste its flaky flavor. Nuri let the snarl keep growing in his chest, and with subconsciously cringed away from Tyson who watched with strange fascination as he did every time. Nuri felt as if a coward.

"Jeez, Nuri you okay?" He asked as if voice flickered between concern and awe. Nuri groaned, as the fire on his back grew larger licking the mushy roof.  
"It's getting harder to deal with." His rough tone and sense of maturity – and also the absence of his stutter, surprised Tyson. _Where the hell did_ that_ come from? _He thought with a sudden sense of brotherly worry blossoming in his chest. Nuri began to sway, eyes closed, and Sunspots now embarked in orange flames, his scarf in danger of being scalded. He then opened his eyes.

They were black.  
Tyson gasped, and backed away heart in a scurry as he felt it flutter in his chest. Nuri with black eyes? What was this doing to him! Usually the guy just had his Sunspots flare and then dim down with time, this was different. _A lot _different.

Tyson reached out for him, his shimmering black eyes like smoothed dark pebbles in a steam. The boy ducked from him and tucked his face between his legs, flame embedding and becoming hotter, blue twirling around the red and orange. He smashed his eyes closed, and then the flame began to die becoming nothing more than a small blaze, barely licking the air. He opened his eyes, and they were copper once more.  
"_Whoa. _Th-that was wuh-wuh-weird!" He bellowed out happily, and his stutter erupted back in his throat again. Tyson sighed in relief, his heart rate dying down. What was that? The thought was leering in his mind, ripping it all up in his heart, he decided that he'd worry over the matter when Nuri went to sleep. He nudged the excited Cyndaquil with the tip of his nose and gave a meager smile.  
"Come one big guy, time to sleep."

"_Awwww." _Nuri groaned and hung his head with a disgruntled look upon his face, as Tyson escorted him back to his nest, the soft warm dirt a better blanket than anything, and the boy nestled himself deep into the bed, breath gentle. His voice was barely above an whisper.  
"Sing the lul-lul-aby." His husky breath ordered. Tyson gave a fond smile and a nuzzle as he dipped his head near his little brothers, and began to sing.  
_"__She put him out like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette_

_She broke his heart he spent his whole life tryin' to forget_

_We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time_

_But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind_

_Until the night"_

The lullaby had no name, no real history. The only origin of it was their mother…who had heard it once by her father, and used to sing it to Nuri every night - her voice butter to your ears. Beautiful and heart breaking the song was, and every night Nuri cried and craved it.  
_He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger_

_And finally drank away her memory_

_Life is short but this time it was bigger_

_Than the strength he had to get up off his knees_

_We found him with his face down in the pillow_

_With a note that said I'll love her till I die_

_And when we buried him beneath the willow_

_The angels sang a whiskey lullaby_

_La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.  
_Tyson had inherited his mothers voice obviously. His singing felt as if an angel was crooning him to sleep than his brother. His voice was smooth and also rugged, and once the notes hit the right places Nuri felt goose flesh pimple on his skin, a chill down his spine. Tyson's eyes were closed, his heart drowning in the songs tragedy.

_The rumors flew but nobody know how much she blamed herself_

_For years and years she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath_

_She finally drank her pain away a little at a time_

_But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind_

_Until the night_

_La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.  
_Nuri began to shake, and tears peeked from his eyes, and burned them painfully. He clung to Tyson for dear life, suppressing sobs. "Muh-muh-mommy…" His voice trailed in utter despair of the song and of his lack of a mother. The Cyndaquil tugged harder on his scarf and cried harder than ever, Tyson's voice wavered to a stop, but then Nuri tugged on his chest. "No….fi-finish it…."  
_She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger_

_And finally drank away his memory_

_Life is short but this time it was bigger_

_Than the strength she had to get up off her knees_

_We found her with her face down in the pillow_

_Clinging to his picture for dear life_

_We laid her next to him beneath the willow_

_While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby_

_La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la._

_La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la._

The song started to end, and Nuri's cries melted into heartbreaking sniffles as he dug his head deeper into Tyson's chest. The Quilava's beautiful voice echoed the burrow, leaving everything in silence; even the fire dimmed down to honor the song and the mystical voice that spoke it. It notes and melodies died there, as the two lovers in the song, and Nuri's eyes began to close, dried tears cracking on his cheeks. He fell asleep, a hand full of knotted Tyson hairs.

* * *

Tyson paws ran swiftly through Nuri's fur, it tangled and untangled through his fingers as his lips squished in confusion. He tilted back his head, holding the sleeping Nuri in his hands, feeling his breath leaning into his chest, was calming the monster of thoughts plummeting his way.  
How had Nuri done that? Diminished his stutter, made his eyes turn stone black, and made Tyson have shivers slither though his body. How? Was it the charcoal? Tyson was absolutely sure it was – it had to be. _No more. _He thought with a hint of sadness. He wasn't sure what initiated the end of charcoal feeding, but he was pretty sure Nuri was close to ending it, and becoming a true _Ignis. _He was surprised by the wave of sad sick emotions gliding over his heart. Nuri was growing up. Soon he'd wouldn't be as care free and loving, he'd be an mature and true _Ignis, _not only that but Tyson was just counting down the days till his evolution…that thought scared the hell out of him. 

_Argh, you sound like a in denial parent. _Tyson thought to himself as he leaned his head back into the squishy wall. He pretty much was, raising Nuri for a year now, he was almost a dad to the guy – almost. He knew that he'd never overshadow his mothers sweet caring figure, her gentle honey voice and soft words. It all flared in his heart and blossomed anger that made his heart flutter in his chest. The traitor. The _backstabber. _To just abandon her two sons in the cold of night, the only evidence of her a raggedy scarf she tied around her foreleg. Now Nuri couldn't part with it or the memory of his mother, even with her indisputable actions. Tyson gave an almost inaudible sigh, maybe he was just too young to understand the dealings of her leaving, or maybe…he refused to believe it?  
Tyson clenched his bottom lip with his teeth and looked into the head of Nuri, his Sunspots black with char from the previous fire, and he dusted them off lovingly. No, Nuri wasn't a baby. He was grown—or growing—but he certainly was no baby, just inexperienced. Just as Tyson thought before, Nuri was growing up, and he was learning more and growing stronger everyday. The boy was in denial, and Tyson could understand with a ache starting to brood in his heart. He had been in denial too, at first. While trying to clumsily take care of an crying baby Cyndaquil he had kept chanting to himself with a jittery heart. _She's coming back, _he'd think as he cradled the crying babe in his arms, _she _has_ to! She wouldn't leave us! Probably just had to go on a long hunt…yeah…a hunt… _and then he'd keep attending young Nuri, feeding him a pain of smoke and little twirls of fire, and bathing him even more of a challenge.  
The thoughts of Nuri's early baby days made Tyson want to gag. It had been rough, he of course never raised a child, and to make it worse was Nuri's constant stutter that he tried restlessly to put to a stop. But it never did. It actually got worse after his mothers leaving, and Tyson knew they were related. His brother was in pain.  
Tyson felt his haunches tense, and the hand stroking his brothers fur stop in mid stroke. His brother was hurting…and he had been too blind to see it. Cursing his stupid existence he felt a snarl bury beneath the flaps of his throat, felt the hot pockets of his fire storage begin to rove in his body and his body numb to its silent rage. He'd been so stupid, he'd been so oblivious to the boy's pain…but he could feel it now, like a white-hot knife to cool skin. It was searing. Tyson nuzzled the boys head fondly, and gave a hoarse whisper in his throat.  
"We're going to talk when you wake up. You need to know you're not alone."

**BAM**

…That wasn't the answer I was expecting, he thought idly. Of course it wasn't the now awoken Nuri darting his copper colored eyes anxiously around the burrow. It was from outside. And it was close.  
Tyson rose immediately, his little brother toppling from his arms. Tyson rose a nose to the air, and gave a whiff. It smelled as if….something was…..burning? He scrambled up from the nest, and replayed the boom in his head. It was a bit muffled, but it was defiantly close, not only that but it sounded like nothing he ever heard of. He was absolutely certain it wasn't a dispute between pokemon. It was more thunderous and hardy. It scared the living daylights out of him.  
"Bruh-bruh-other! What's h-h-h-happen-en-en-en," Tyson silenced him with a paw to his lean maw, his stuttering now out of control due to fear was bruising his heart. He didn't look at the boy when he said his reply in a soft tone.  
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out."

"C-can I come?" Nuri asked in desperate need of information, molten eyes still aroused in fear, Tyson could hear his pumping heartbeat breaking way in his chest.  
"Sure, but only to the 'mouth'" He sighed in surrender, and hoisted the boy on his back as he sprung to the mouth of the burrow. He could see with surprise that part of the burrow had caved in. Half of the dirt was spilled inside, making it a tight fit to mold between the soil and grass, especially with a trembling little Cyndaquil clutching on your back. Tyson peeked from the tiny hole the burrow had left of a lip, feeling Nuri's scarf tickle his neck and let his skin break out in goose flesh. His heart stopped.  
"_O-o-oh, muh-muh-muh, __**god." **_  
Nuri's words were drifted away in the screams and howls of pokemon, in the muffled gunshots and men screaming bloody murder. Tyson didn't even hear him.  
The snow which only hours' before was a beautiful white had turned cold, hard, and black. Looking almost as if rotting marble to a piece of the carven. It was sullen, mixed in with hot ruby red blood, guns were discarded and not only that but there were things littered among the floors, they were wrinkled and shriveled they looked as if they were…. they were…._ bodies. _Of _pokemon, _littered about, some massacred others shot in the head and tossed carelessly aside, some were rushed through with bullets. Tyson quickly grabbed Nuri, turned him under his belly and covered his eyes. Too late. The boy was crying, hot salty tears running down his face so badly it hurt, his howls of pain were softened by the gentle touch of Tyson but they were still there, rich in heartbroken pain. The Cyndaquil began to tremble, clinging to his brother for dear life as he reviewed the thoughts of the dead pokemon, more importantly the men—tall with cedar caps and navy uniforms—bagging them or capturing live ones. Flying away in long elongated monsters, their teeth jagged in the grill of their mouths shredding the black snow, black from fire. Fire that was flagging all over the trees was burning and scalding pokemon, and was armed in the hands of the men, they were _holding _the fire! Nuri thought with scared and stifled gasps, Tyson pulled him in closer and quietly chanted his lullaby to him, to calm him, it was blurry in the mist of the sounds of war but still there. For the first time it didn't calm Nuri much.  
"M-m-m-make th-th-them s-s-s-s-stop!!" His stutter was loud and unable to get a hold of, Tyson squeezed closer to his chest, he gave a yelp of fright.  
"Shh, its okay."  
"NO! NO, N-N-N-O! I WANT _MOM!_ I _WANT H-HER!" _He wailed uncontrollably flailing in Tyson's arms, crying out for her. Tyson couldn't believe the hurt blooming in his chest, the pain that was buried in the boy, and how much he couldn't mend it no matter how many sweet words he uttered to him. Tears ran from his eyes, for the dead and captured pokemon, and for his baby brother – dead inside.

The boy was trying to fight off Tyson, his pain so great and loud that he couldn't be bound by his arms. He struggled, bit and clawed at his skin and Tyson flinched in the small nips of torturing pain. But refusing to let go. Nuri slapped away his hands, opening his copper eyes and giving Tyson a good kick in the face. He recoiled, falling backwards and clutching his nose. Nuri could feel the tingle go up his foot from the feeling of Tyson's nose crunching under his heel. He hoped he didn't break it. The boy then scrambled through the tight fit of the burrow's wounded lip, and leaped from its core, feeling the musky hot wind pelt him from the right. His opened the lay of the land perfect. The trucks were rushing around their tires ravishing the ground in angry swipes, helicopters wings brushing the dead burning trees branches like feather wings, and the drone of their robotics made Nuri grasp his head in absolute pain. His heart swelled as he saw the pokemon, a Caterpie lain dead in the brush its skull crushed and body swamped in blood, a Pinsir with one long tooth ripped from its head, squealing in pain as a soldier dragged him away, blood flowing in quarts over his hands, and the most heartbreaking – a Swablu being torn away from its dead mother, her wings torn from her body, both of their wings drenched in blood.

Horrified, Nuri stood amidst the blaze of pain and cries, the rears and shots that were no longer muffled but loud and angry like the crack of lighting. Tears began to dribble from his chin. He needed his mother. He needed her voice and faint touch. God, he _needed _her. And through the mist he didn't hear the footsteps trudging up behind him.

"Why, a clean one? Rare, but not for long." The voice was rich and with a heavy southern accent, even though Nuri was unsure of what the human meant. He knew it wasn't good. He squealed and beat the soldier with the bits of his fists and tried to scramble away. But he was too weak, and too slow. The soldier snatched the cuff of his scarf , holing him up by it as if a noose and gave a devilish smile as another hand snaked to his throat, his pistol was clenched through the fingers. The Cyndaquil gave a yelp, trying to kick away from him, and trying to warm up his girth for just a spot of fire. Nothing came but peppery smoke.  
"A fighter? I wonder where you've been all these hours," _Hours?!? _Nuri thought frantically. "Ugh, I'm so tired of ya'll little ones, you bore the shit out of me, and I'll just get rid of you before I have to pack you to the truck too." The soldier secured his cedar cap, and then yanked off Nuri's scarf in one hand, letting it fall like a feather to the ground. Nuri thrashed in his arms, kicking and screaming for his scarf. He bit hard on one of the soldiers fingers who groaned in pain and swatted his snout away and Nuri felt it begin to bloom in red.  
"_MINE! TH-TH-ATS MUH-MUH-MINE!" _He shouted out, his neck feeling naked without his mothers scarf sweet embrace to his throat. His mothers soul was knitted in that scarf, he wouldn't let it waste in the ruins of blood and black char.  
The soldier was now angry, not understanding the Cyndaquil; he rolled the barrel of his black and sleek pistol, it feeling cold in his hands. He popped in a golden bullet, and clicked it closed with experience. He then cocked it back, and let the nose of the gun kiss Nuri's squirming head, and forced it into his mouth. Nuri could taste the metallic flavor, and he cried in fright as he understood that the pistol would kill him.  
"Taste bullet little one." The soldier ruffed and shoved the pistol deeper into Nuri's mouth, Nuri feeling as if ready to gag.  
_"LET HIM GO YOU BASTARD!" _

Tyson's angry shout stopped the soldier looking around to see where the noise came from he was interrupted to a bite to his arm and the crunch that followed it. Tyson's head and back was aflame, the fire burned with a blue intensity from the anger sprouting from his voice. His girth was so hot it scalded to the touch, and his nerves were on edge, jittery and bubbling with excitement. Nuri fell to the ground along with the pistol—that had fallen from his lips thankfully—once he touched the ground the pistol fell shortly after, pointed to the soldier it blew off shooting the man in the leg who was already wailing in pain with a Quilava attached to his elbow.  
"**OWWW! WHAT THE FUCKING HELL!" **He yelled with ferocity as the bullet lodged itself into his ankle as he swung off Tyson whose teeth were layered in blood. Blood began to leak from his shoe and soak his socks and the cuff of his pants, he yelled in agony as he fell to his knees sliding off his socks and shoes revealing a dark red gash tissue laying around its flesh and chunks of meat clinging to bone that was snow white against the red. Ow.  
"**I'LL KILL YA! I'LL KILL YA BOTH!" **He lunged for them, madness in his eyes and blood on his lip. Tyson sprinted fro his brother protecting him from the man, and let out a burst of fire that splayed from his mouth. Blue and red thrust themselves onto the man, letting him light up in blistering flames. He stopped and put his shaking hands to his face screaming bloody murder as he rolled in the ashy snow, which just ignited the fire more, and it reared back and snapping at his cedar cap now putting his blonde locks in flames. And then he stopped moving, writhing and twitching disappeared, as did the flame – and the breath. He was dead. _Oh my god…_ Tyson thought in horror as he clasped his paw to his mouth eyes wild with fright. _I killed somebody! I _killed _somebody! _No, he relieved the world of somebody! Didn't he? He saved his little brother from having his brains plowed out by a bullet, and rid the world of another evil human. Right? Something in his gut clenched, and it felt so wrong. This person had family…. Friends….maybe his own little brother….  
He felt sick to his stomach.  
He had to suppress the urge to vomit.  
"Br-br-other? I-I-I-m-m-m s-s-s-s," Nuri began but Tyson cut him off.  
"Don't do it again." His voice was hard and cold, it scared him.  
"Oka-a-a-y." Nuri's stutter was worsening with each second and he guessed it was the shock and the chaos. It was making his throat quell.  
Suddenly a net incased Tyson, his flame had disappeared and his Sunspots were still glowing with the newly bred fire. The net a neon green was held by a shaking little boy, eyes wide and caught in nervousness and fear. He turned around, skinny as ever and red hair licking his face.  
"G-got him sir!"  
_Oh no, _Tyson turned to Nuri whose eyes were full of disbelief. Shaking was now absolutely audible and he had a trembling voice. Thankfully he was so small the red head boy didn't notice him.  
"GO! GO RIGHT NOW NURI, AND DON'T YOU LOOK BACK! KEEP GOING! TO THE BURROW, IF I GET BACK OR NOT!!" He screamed in an aching voice. The command unstable he shook his head in displeasure. No, not his brother! He was all he had left!  
"N-n-n-o! No brother!"  
"**GO!**"

The Cyndaquil's copper eyes grew red with tears and he grabbed his scarf in one hand and scuttled away as fast his little feet could take him and leaped into a bush near the gulley of the burrow. _Thank god, _Tyson thought as he saw his brother shield himself in the bristle of branches. He was safe.  
"Got the Quilava that killed Lieutenant Hawthorn sir." The boy said a shake in his voice as he tossed the net to the older man, a white freckly beard on his chin. He wrinkled it and gave a smile, the boy though didn't return it, he seemed to focused on not looking down at the well-cooked body of Lieutenant Hawthorn.  
"Good job, Private. We'll keep this one, if he's strong enough to kill a soldier he'll be valuable."  
"Aye, General."  
"Good, now what are you doing? Go out there and get me more strong ones!"  
"Uh yuh-yuh-yes sir!" The boy then ran frantically from the General who now had Tyson in his clutches. Tyson growled trying to embark a fire, but nothing came and he felt panic well in his throat. The net was defiantly fire proof, proved the neon green, rubbery exterior. The General swung him by his hip as if a toy as he calmly walked through the massacre to a large fat navy colored bus, and was tossed and locked in a cage, its cramped corers a stress on Tyson's haunches. His body was worn, so tired and stressed it immediately melted in the sight of rest. They were aching in pain, his fire girth used up and he felt almost empty from the lack of color and fire in the pit of his stomach. He groaned the image of Lieutenant Hawthorn imprinted in his brain, he stuck his mouth through the bars and vomited, his stomach emptying itself in shame. He was a _murderer. _  
"Hey look! A new one!" A grouchy voice echoed in Tyson's ears, at least it wasn't human.  
"Yeah, and look he barfed! Ugh." Another squeaky one replied and Tyson shrugged their voices his brain and heart aching horridly.  
Nuri was gone. He'd never see him again, and he'd be on his own, to fend himself in the wild. What if another attack broke out? Or an officer got him on the way to the gulley? The thoughts made him panic, and made him squeal when he realized he'd be powerless to it. To his brothers _death._

Or then, he could be in the burrow right now, asleep and scared clutching to his scarf and praying for his mommy.  
That night Tyson cried himself to sleep with the hopeful thought that Nuri escaped and was praying as he wept.  
But what he didn't know that Nuri had leapt into the food claim of the bus, and was riding with him along a bunch of potatoes.

* * *

**Author Notes- **Hey, Stabb here, and that was my newest story Chamber 23 blues. Hope you liked the first chapter, sorry for the cliffie but hey, there'll be another chap in a few days ; 

**What happens Next Stabb?**

New people are introduced, are they friends are foes? Whats _The Embassy? _Why are all these Pokemon so hurt? Is that human being...kind? Where are tyson and Nuri? You'll all find out in chapter two of Chamber 23 Blues, **Drafted.**


	2. Drafted

**Name- **Chamber 23 Blues

**Story Summary- **This is a story of two brothers, and of a place called _The Army. _P.O.P is an Pokemon Operation, their mission? Use Pokemon as slaves and experiments to the army. Who will stop this madness? Tyson, Nuri, and Chamber 23 of course.

**Characters Introduced (not in any kind of order except Aaron)-**

Aaron Carlos Lopez  
Anabelle May Greenwood,  
Lieutenant Grayson (James Maxwell Grayson)  
General Anderson (Walter Ken Anderson)  
Ariel (610)  
465  
234  
509

**Chapter Summary - **A whole lot of crap is caused by some humans, Nuri and Tyson seemed to have dissappeared. And the Embassy who?

**Authors Notes- **Sorry for the long character guys well heres Drafted :)

* * *

_**"Courage! Do not fall back; in a little the place will be yours.  
Watch! When the wind blows my banner against the bulwark, you shall take it" **  
__- Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc). 1429 In the assault on the bridge at Orleans_

**Chapter 2 – Drafted**

The _Marie _knocked unpleasantly; she dipped her stern in the water feeling the cool sensation of its fat waves grinding along her rail posts. It lapped at her bow and brushed roughly in the planks of her sides, her foremast flapped loudly against its poles, the wind whipping them around like toys. The water was tough to trudge through for The _Marie, _the cold weather making it stiff and the animals disappear from the surface their usual helpful fins steered her through the fits of waves. But none were present.  
And inside her, in the belly of her lay a boy, eyes wide and heart pounding in fear as the cold storm raged around The _Marie _like some rubber duck in a bath tub. Thunder rang in the boy's ears like base drums pounding away, lighting cracking like glass and lights flashing blindly through his porthole made the boy dig himself deeper in his hammock the covers up to his hazel gray eyes. He quivered beneath the blanket, feeling The _Marie _bob against another thick wave, feeling her bow sink into the water for a moment. He felt his heart flutter away in his chest and most of all the ragged breathing that was so hot it burned his throat with the need of water. He dug himself deeper into the covers, letting them envelope him in soft thin quilts. He felt his quaking escalate as he heard another snap of lighting and a crewmember grunt as he rolled to the side of his hammock. The boy sighed, feeling the hammock's tight cloths pull up his spine and choke up his throat, his back burned missing its former bed and his throat was crying out for water, dry and sore the boy lifted his shaky fingers to massage it. It just burned with more longing. The boy layback letting out a small squeak of surprise as his throat arched up with stabs of pain. He gasped, and gripped it tight as if someone was choking him he then groaned and craned his neck back feeling the dry start to sink down to his lungs. Ugh. He suddenly heard the crewmember near him moan in disturbed sleep and the boy froze under the blanket, arms shaking from fright of the storm as he felt another perk from the waves. He rolled into a ball in the hammock, wrestling his head between his knees so the world would stop spinning for just a moment… He felt his throat stretch ready to gag and he pulled his head back suppressing the vomit clinging in his throat.

"Oh god…" He whispered as he clenched a hand over his lips, feeling the salty chapped flesh part painfully. He squished his eyes together in grief, heart thumping as the water churned beneath him and dripped from the cracked ceilings. He _hated _the sea. He _hated _water. God, he _hated _the whole damn boat! It moved so much, rocking on each side, bumping up against coral and spinning in water spins. Couldn't it just stay still for two minutes?!? Obviously not, since the boat suddenly dipped bravely, its bow brushing the foamy watersides. If there was anything in this world that Aaron hated the most it was the damn _Marie._

Aaron Carlos Lopez was an drafted seventeen year old in the Pokemon Operation Penetration (or otherwise known as P.O.P) Well actually, P.O.P didn't draft him _exactly _he chose it, as a young judicial criminal. Aaron smoothed his chapped lips together as he felt blood began to leak from their cracks. He was in dire need of chap stick. The thought of his convection made his blood roil in his belly, not to mention the nagging worry of his younger sister. Now in the hands of his uncle – alone. His spine gave an unpleasant shiver that slithered up his back. Ugh. Aaron scrunched up his face under the blankets buried himself deeper, and began to cry silently, his heart suddenly slowing to the rhythm of his tears. He pulled his knees up to his chest and absorbed a sob that had been floundering in his chest, letting it die there. He had been so stupid, so careless; he should've put on extra gloves or not have grown so many drugs beneath his bed. But he had. He had grown the Marijuana beneath the cotton of his sheets for the extra money to keep up with the steadily growing rent and alcohol bills that kept piling, not to mention Caroline's clothes and food, his uncle jobless and becoming more abusive every day. Memories of delayed trips to the library until eight 'o clock, of him wedging himself between his sister and enraged uncle wielded with a dented bat, but mostly of Caroline's cries at night as she clung to his shirt new bruises fresh on her skin like butterfly kisses.  
And now she'd be there all alone, the judge not noticing her butterfly kisses or her petrified screams at the courtroom once he was given the choice, jail or P.O.P.  
Aaron groaned as the tears began to crack on his cheeks, hard and feeling like plastic to his skin. His memories flowing ten fold, he grasped the silver rosary on his nape for dear life. Feeling as if it slipped through his gasp, he'd be sucked into this terrible abyss forever, never leave the shattered face of his sister once he spoke his decision.

"_Don't leave….you promised….said we're an_ familia. _Don't leave me."  
"It wont be long Care-care, I'll be back before you know it."  
"Liar!"  
_At least Sundance – his beloved Clefable – would provide enough protection. His attacks weren't incredibly strong since he wasn't kept as a battle Pokemon, but as a loving pet, but he loved Caroline with every bit of his pink heart. Aaron felt bits of reassurance glow in his heart, but it was a dim glow, since he felt the bits of selfishness crawl to shade bits of that glow. He had an choice to take Sundance with him to P.O.P of course, it being a Pokemon facility protection was a very recommended statement, but he gave his best friend up in a heartbeat. Caroline needed him more.  
That didn't make Aaron yearn for companionship.

Well, he'd be taking care of Pokemon right? So he'd be bound to befriend a few…. right? Or even better a human friend would be better, even though he doubted it greatly. Thanks to his Hispanic heritage racism has been a regular thing for Caroline and Aaron. Aaron hugged his waist tightly at the thought of his first experience with racism. It had been imprinted in his brain since then.  
He was eight years old, new to the country and amazed by its spectacular buildings and towering landscapes. The rolling hills were an absolute blessing from the flat dry wasteland of Mexico, and the flushed breeze that swept his bangs from his face made his smile widen from ear to ear. By then his parents were alive, untouched by the car crash that lead them to their early graves, and they were clutching his newborn sister Caroline, an angel in itself her little black hairs in her baby blue eyes. They were on a rumbling train on their way through Los Angeles and the coast lay open enveloped before them, it glittered and sparkled like diamonds in a rest field and Aaron squished his face to the cool glass, he could remember his mom snapping at him to get his nose of the window. By this time he'd been chatting with his father about American sports, confused why Football was now Soccer (A/N I think that's in Mexico too but if it isn't forgive me) when he felt a gnaw toil in his stomach.  
"Why don't you get something from the trolley? You can catch up to it if you want."  
"Okay, can I get some…."  
"Money, Aaron."  
"Yes that."  
Aaron greedily scooped up the five dollars in his fingers, fingering the alien American money. It was so _green _in his fingers. Peros had always been so colorful, bronze coppers and light baby blues decorated with gaunt faces and the eagle with a snake clasped in his beak limp with death. American money seemed so organized – he didn't like it. Aaron slid open the compartment door, feeling the plated glass cool smudge with fingerprints. Once he peered through the hallway he saw the blood red carpet draped on the shaky floor and the numerous compartments that were shimmering with golden sun. He strolled down the carpeted hall eyes darting for the trolley until he found it parked near the end of his train cart, the owner was leaning against it a cap hovering over his blonde bangs and a toothpick wedged between his pearly white teeth. Aaron smiled big, clutching the American money in his sweaty fingers, he walked up to the man – who looked about thirty – and held out the money, pointing to a soda tucked in the cup of the trolley.  
"Can I have a Ginger ale please?"

The man looked at him beneath the shadow of his baseball cap and crunched up his nose and rolled his eyes. Spitting out the toothpick on the red carpet he held his head up high brown eyes dim with arrogance, he maneuvered the trolley around Aaron not responding to his question, thrusting him into the compartment nearby, the glass plane hard against his back. He walked away with a huff, and beneath his breath he muttered.

"Damn Mexican."  
In that moment his heart broke. And with that I sprinted back to my parents, questions that throbbed in my throat like a bad cold.  
He groped in the dark for a hard, needle shaped object, floundering in the darkness for the only comforting token that Aaron had at the moment. His fingers then thud into smooth polished wood, and they curled around the handle of the Guitar, the strings giving a low hum from the gentle strum Aaron gave, cautious no to awaken his mates. He had learned to play the Guitar about six months after the incident, the instrument leading him out of the darkness of racism, and for a time would place him in mythical world that sung of music, and loved all. The Guitar's low throaty hums making his heart flounder along with his hands. His parents had always been supportive of his musical talent, saying he was gifted with the branded instrument, and Aaron used to play in libraries or on the block of his home, he never laid out a hat or anything. He just loved the sound of the music bouncing of the trees branches or bounding in the libraries halls, many people told him he was good. But then others told him that Mexicans shouldn't touch music, it was sacred.

He found out how cruel the world was by then. They told him, tried to strip from him, the only love of his life, music. And it just became dimmer with time. His parent's death only two years later and the lack of money and the expenses he was burrowed in, and poor Caroline, growing up without parents, only clumsy big brother. Not to mention Uncle Rick (or as he called him beneath his breath Dick) and his cruel eyes shine with stupidity and his fingers tight around his faithful back, that liked to meet Aaron's back.

Everything sunk deeper like what the _Marie _was threatening. It fell deeper and deeper until Aaron and Caroline's heart smashed not in two, but in a million pieces.

* * *

"_Get up Private!" _

Hard and uncaring, the voice sliced the blissful sleep that Aaron had finally earned after hours of tossing and turning due to the storm, it made Aaron moan softly. He swung his legs over the hammocks cloth, blanket still wrapped around his brittle shoulders and eyes still glued together by sleep sand, he groped for his boots as he tried to fasten them blind to the world.  
_"Faster Private! You're wasting my precious time, and I don't want to see some nancy boy MEXICAN WASTE MY TIME!" _

The name hurt almost as much as the slap to the face that Grayson had given which made Aaron's eyes smack together and flutter with drowsiness. Revealing Second Lieutenant Grayson, gray eyes cold and dull as they glared into Aaron, white hair hidden beneath his cedar cap vest wrought tight around his beer belly, and fists struck to his hips revealing his polished silver badge. He was proud of that _damn _badge, showed it off like it was the _damn _Holy Grail. Stupid piece of metal.  
"Yes, Second Lieutenant"

"_First _Lieutenant." He corrected with a finger stuck in Aaron's face. Aaron's brows knitted together in confusion, and he tilted his head to prove it. The Lieutenant snarled in his throat and moved his elbow to reveal a shimmering _gold _badge. Proof that the Second had been rewarded, or substituted.  
"Permission to speak, sir?"

Aaron asked with caution, curious about the replaced position. His politeness startled Grayson, but then he struck back to his hardened face.  
"Permission denied. Now get dressed Private, your mates have already began and if you don't come up the same as them all done and such you'll be sent to Warren."  
Warren was the discipline around P.O.P, forget, push-ups and downed rations, you'd get Warren. A chain link whip that had already struck Aaron from disrespect, his spine vibrated with slithers from the remembrance of the cold metal striking his back like a Steelix, and the bruises it left purple and swollen with pooled blood. Ugh, _not _Warren. Aaron nodded in recognition and half-heartedly said.

"Yes, sir."  
_Lieutenant _Grayson nodded back and gestured for his pokemon, a dog tagged Ledian by the name of 234 with sad eyes and cracks and dents in her bug like shell, to follow him; which she did obediently. Aaron glanced around his surroundings, his mates changing quickly, tugging on boots and clasping belts; they were close to finish, their pokemon rushing with their things. Aaron leapt off his hammock, bare feet slapping the wood, he rushed for hi clothes and pulled on navy blue pants and fumbled as he buttoned his shirt and draped his vest around his waist. As he began to slip into his boots and tighten them with the lace, he saw the others finishing up and trotting up the porthole to the deck of the ship, sunlight shined like God's hands from the mouth. Aaron had his bag in his teeth when he finished as he took one last look at the picture of his sister Caroline, smiling happily arms wide and her happiness melting in her brown eyes as her black hair lay lank on her shoulders, Aaron kissed it, a bit more heartbroken.  
Once he finally made it to the deck he saw his mates were already in a line, arms flat against their sides, chins held high and posture perfect in P.O.P fashion, all accounted for – except for Aaron.  
He quickly joined the line, and plopped his bag and Guitar near his feet, copying the posture, though he could feel the buckle pop in his legs. His stomach dropped and his heart clawed its way through his throat once he saw General Anderson pacing the line of Privates, eyes hard as rock and mouth in a stern line. Damn, he was dead. General Anderson was older than Grayson; his white freckly beard coating his face and the loss of hair on his head was noticeable even if the cedar cap was on. His outfit instead of a blue was a tan, and a bright golden cress-crossed Eagle lay across his chest, talons holding up an American flag, he also had a large Rifle, which was laid up, on his shoulder, his white eyebrows knotted in anger. Unlike Grayson, Anderson was in shape, his chest was layered in muscle even though he was elderly and his arms were burly with stapled muscle. Damn he looked frightening. Aaron felt his throat clog, and he tried to not to let his legs shake and his body shudder as the General's big leather boots stomped his way to Aaron.  
"You're late Private." His tone was terrifying cold.  
"Forgive me, General." Aaron managed to mutter through his lips eye not meeting Anderson's ice blue ones. A snake suddenly coiled its way around his heart and buried its fleshy fangs in the meat of his heart, it ached painfully.  
"Don't know if I could do that, Private, you've been late repeatedly and being disrespectful to Lieutenant Grayson."  
"General, please, it wasn't my fault he-" Aaron though was cut off by a fierce Anderson, hand to his face.  
"Did I give you permission to speak, _Lopez?."_ Oh God his voice was like a knife to the throat. The snake dug itself deeper into the artery of his heart, black eyes buried in red meat.

"No, sir."  
"Good. Now, your permission is granted."  
"General, Sec- I mean, _Lieutenant_ Grayson had been offending my race." Aaron said, his voice was shaky and he felt beads of sweat sprout on his forehead. He could feel his mates' eyes on him, and more importantly their annoyance that was probably growling in their minds. The snake had now made a hole in his heart, its head sticking out from the bottom with a menacing grin, maw stained with ruby blood.

"I don't care if the man offends your _existence, _I will not tolerate such disobedience and disrespect to Lieutenant Grayson. He is higher than you in ranks and deserves your utmost respect. _Do you hear me?" _

Words hot like a griddle, burned in his chest as Anderson thrust a finger in his face and then narrowed his brow. The humiliation became like smoothened stones black with waves, thrown at him. Aaron lowered his head as his eyes burned holes into the wooden floor. The snake had now destroyed his heart; it was wilted in its destruction.  
"Yes General."

_He did insult my existence you damn fool! _Aaron snarled in his brain, feeling like a harmless rabbit to a rabid wolf that had just gotten a head start. The General nodded and lip curled in disgust as he spit on Aaron's shoes. Black juice from the tobacco that had been wet and mousy in his mouth was now slathered over Aaron's leather boots. His anger swelled and he wrapped his fingers in fists, digging his fingernails into his skin. They were red hot from anger; he had enough of these damn people! He bit his lip, teeth dug into pink flesh. The General turned around gracefully but didn't walk away until a few words were wafted in the air. Adding to Aaron's bloody anger that was becoming to grow into a explosion of fury.  
"All you fucking Mexicans are the same – too stupid to listen to anyone."  
_That's it, _he thought frantically, _that's FUCKING IT! _Aaron yelled and suddenly crouched to his bag, fetching his rifle that he had inherited from his father, knowing it was useless to shoot the man since not only was his aim fatal, but he'd be absolutely _dead _too. So he hoisted the gun high above the General's head – feeling the shocked stares from his mates – and prepared to thrust it down that damn mans skull!  
"General! Turn around!"  
A voice echoed through the deck's roundabouts as one of the Privates tried to warn the General. Well he was damn too late. Since the General turned around Aaron only struck his shoulder, but the butt of the gun collapsed in with the bone, he could hear the crack and the piercing wail from Anderson. Most of all the patter of feet from the Privates rushing to assist Anderson and to restrain Lopez, Aaron then saw the General's Typhlosion – 465 – head perked suddenly from its resting place in the corner near the starboard. It rushed up and neck lit in flames eyes burning in determination as curling flames were aimed at him.

Aaron yelped as he skid through the arms of his mates and dodged the fire, feeling its flame lick his pant cuff. And he ran for it. He ran so hard his legs burned.  
The _Marie _was parked to the large metallic pier, ropes bounding it to the land, so Aaron climbed up the rail post and leapt from the _Marie _hands. He bound off for shelter, there was no way in hell that he would be calmly dealt with. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! _Aaron thought eyes crushed together heart thumping painfully, snake tearing at the vein of his heart. _You should've let him walk away! Now you're _dead_ you've been kicked out of America, out of P.O.P and now you're on the run! Great first day, Lopez. _

Meanwhile stood 465, his throat alit with flame and his girth roiling in the bottom of his liver. He was staring at the amazement of the speed of the foolish Private, his tan foreign legs slapping the metal pier like dead meat. He had stripped off his vest for more speed, and 465 could still hear the thud of his leather boots pounding the metal. Then the bristle as he dived into the bushes, soldiers down on his tail had lost the boy. The trees a sweet temporary haven for the stupid Private, stupid but _courageous _Private. The Typhlosion had been impressed by the boys bold move to talk back to the General, he was flabbergasted when he saw the butt of his gun meet the General's shoulder, and he was absolutely and positively _admiring _the boy when he rolled from under the tongue of 465's flame. To be honest, no, to be bold, as the boy had been, 465 HATED the master he had been assigned to – General Anderson. HATED counseling new captured terrified pokemon, especially the young ones… He HATED Generals angry words, and the pokemon's loathing eyes, he HATED having rules to follow, and most of all he **DESPISED** not being able to remember his former life before captured as a fucking little pet for some old man. And he was really aiming for Anderson not Lopez.  
Suddenly a murmur of voices awoke 465 from his trance, and he turned to see a bundle of soldiers surrounding the General, who was clasping his shoulder shouting in mere grief, tears pooling his ice eyes.

"General, the ambulance is coming. Would you like us to go and eliminate Lopez?" Said Grayson – a man 465 hated also, his beady eyes and big gut and cocky attitude bugged the hell out of him – looking excited for a chance to hurt the poor boy. 465's heart bulged, he found himself hoping to God that the boy was hidden somewhere safe. Wedged under a rock maybe? Hidden in the curtain of a waterfall?  
The General looked up from wet and hurt eyes, his body shaking he shook his head.  
"N-no. I know just the place tough enough for that stupid Mexican."  
"If I may ask General, what are you thinking of?"

The General gave a big toothy smile, and pulled down the Lieutenant by the collar and whispered in his ear, even if it was hoarse 465 could hear it with keen ears and felt his heart freeze once he heard the General's response.  
"Take him out of the Private dorms, and but him in _Chamber 23."_

* * *

The soldier held Aaron down with the crook of his elbow; his bulging muscle bumping into Aaron's nose, and his hand was knotted in the curls of his hair. Aaron groaned, after three hours of sweet and terrifying escape, he had been caught. A group of Private First Classes came scouring the cave he had been kneeling inside, since it was so small, he felt the charcoal like dust ride up his knees, and his breath feel peppery with the feeling of minerals stuffed down his throat. And once the First Classmen's pounding boots were heard by an claustrophobic Aaron, he squeezed his head between his knees to take control of his chattering teeth and to stopper the spinning of the world. His heart had begun to sing in terror, and then suddenly a low hallow chirp came from the depth of the cave, a portion he was too big to fit into, and then a flutter of wings rustled from the cave alerting the First Classmen and Aaron. And suddenly five Spearows appeared from the caves gut, and slammed head first into Aaron, beaks clicking and biting hard onto Aaron's skin making it bleed profusely and turn black beneath the pressure of their hard beaks. Luckily, the First Classmen shooed them away, with the Sergeant's (Anthony Black) Poliwhirl number 112. After 112 gotten rid of the birds who flew with an grudge buried in their throats, the First Classmen leapt from the ledge that they had been standing them and nailed him to the ground, and 112 shot him with water until his skin started to prune and yellow, making him limp in the arms of Sergeant Black.  
Now, he was held captive, wet, freezing cold, and feeling tears threaten to prick through his eyes. _Oh my God, _he thought frantically despite his tattered position, _what have I done? I'm going to be _killed. _Why was I so damn STUPID!?! _A First Classman with sandy blonde hair and a heavy build had a walkie talkie close to his lips, his voice uttering through the static and Aaron felt the panic as he heard the returning voice. 

"V72 to X48 over."

The static rumbled for a while, and then a scratchy reply returned to Aaron's discontent.

"X48 to V72, what's the problem? Over." The voice was older, and obviously the man must've been above the rank of the First Classman from his casual tone. The sandy haired Classman talked into the walkie talkie with relief in his voice.  
"No problem, sir. The escapee has been caught, over."  
"Mission completed then. Send him to W289 then, and set to work after, over."  
"Sir yes sir, signing off."  
"Signing off."

The walkie talkie's static had been replaced with a long droning beep and the Sandy haired Classman clicked it off and tucked it in his belt. He turned to the Sergeant that was straddling me, and ordered his Stantler named 673 to haul me up. Sergeant Black got up from me gingerly, but it was no use, my body was so cold and tired, it had no will for escape, only for a soft sweet bed. 673 leaned down, and shoveled Aaron up from the puddle of water with its sturdy antlers, balanced his weight and thrust Lopez over his shoulder. Aaron's arms flared with white-hot pain, and he wailed as he felt the strain on his forearm, he straddled the 673 and wrapped his arms around his thick neck, rubbing his tears in the brown fur. 673 felt an ache in the knot of his chest, he found himself feeling sorry for a _human. _The enemy. Shaking himself out of the ridiculous thought he began to walk alongside his master – Classman Frank Vechio the sandy blonde walkie talkie holder – Sergeant Black and some other Classmen, including 112 a good friend of 673, who was looking up at the boy with his black beady warm eyes.  
"You think he's okay?" 112 asked, the Poliwhirl's nonexistent mouth sounded a bit scared and uneasy. 673 wondered how he could talk without a mouth, but mostly he was wondering why the Poliwhirl was worried about the boy, they've done this before.

"Yeah, he's pretty bruised though. Damn Spearows are vicious!"  
"Oh, this one seems…. strange…different…. you know?" 112 didn't look at 673 as he spoke this, and 673 felt his eyes widen as he heard it. 112 was usually more cold to humans than 673, he hated them since he still had his memory since he was young, and he could remember the revolution he had in his home, where his dad had been killed and he had been captured for testing as a Poliwag. This was surprising coming from him, not to mention that the feeling 112 was getting was from Lopez was the same 673 was getting. The strange alien prickle that bent down his sides, it felt warm and trusting. But he was cautious to trust it, too hurt by humans in the past.  
"Oh yeah I know! Did you hear about this one though? Attacked General Anderson."

112's eyes projected and he had a hint of excitement in his voice.

"_Really?" _

"Yup, hit 'im in the head with a rifle butt broke the General's shoulder."  
"God, that takes guts. Especially from a Private."  
673 snorted and gave 112 a look of disapproval.  
"Or _stupidity, _first that damned Quilava killing Hawthorn now it's a HUMAN attacking General Anderson!"  
673 sighed, and strode a bit slower so the Classmen couldn't hear the two-pokemon conversation. Even though it was nothing but grunts and squeaks to them, it may be annoying to them so 673 was afraid Vechio would shut them both up with his nightstick.

"Yeah, he does look a bit different. His skins darker-"  
"Not to mention his hair, its blacker than a Umbreon." 112 added with a sense of pride as he studied the boy who had now fallen asleep against 673's neck fingers still interlocked. 673 grunted in addition, it was obviously noticeable, the dark hair and tan skin was different not to mention the strange sense of aliveness in his accent. He shifted the boy to his left hide, the softer one, to make him more comfortable; in the silence he was becoming fond of the boy. Stop. No. Wrong. All humans were evil.

"I wonder what Anderson will do to him." 112 asked absent mindedly as he studied the boys fresh bruises from his water gun, the Poliwhirl felt an odd slice of pain in his heart. Feeling guilty for hurting the boy. He was already hurt enough!

"Probably use the Warren on him and then expel this one back to jail." 112 answered his own question, his blue arms swinging sadly by his sides. His tone disappointed by the way things he was sure to be and it pained him desperately. This boy just didn't give the feel _criminal. _

"No. Don't you know?" 673 asked. 112 narrowed his brow and growled in the flap of his throat.  
"_Obviously_, I don't know anything!" 112 said in anger, his voice rising annoyance staining his tone. The Classmen looked around in confusion as they heard the sudden growl from 112. 673 snapped back at 112 in a sharp whisper, voice dipped in irritation also.  
"Shh! Okay, okay, I get it."

673 then sighed and looked at a offended 112 preparing to come back with a witty comment but 673 made sure he beat him to the punch.

"Lopez is being sent to _Chamber 23."_

Silence stopped the two. 112 speechless eyes wide in shock, arms limp at his sides, and 673 giving him a look of reassurance. 112 head hung and he felt the water, which was covered with flesh in the back of his Appendix slosh like an churning sea.

"God help him."

"Amen to that." 673 said.

* * *

Twenty seven times. 

Twenty seven times the Warren crushed itself into Aaron's already sore back. Its silver metal abdomen whacked his bruised back, and the pain became so intense that Aaron's back numbed up in a futile defense. And through the whole thing Aaron never screamed.  
Aaron began to shake, his bear chest heaving with shuddering slow breaths. He decided if he focused on breathing the pain would ebb away a bit, so he concentrated on plumping his lungs up with sweet air that felt blissful yet pulled in his throat. He brought his hands up to his face, he shook them away surprised they were wet, his cheeks had been so numb he didn't even notice he'd been crying. He swiped them off quickly; the Warren was now perched high by the hilt by a crane and the General was standing next to the hunched over Aaron, a satisfied grin on his face and a slit on his left shoulder where the butt of Aaron's rifle crunched into, it was wrapped in bandages and looking disfigured, Aaron figured he'd dislocated his shoulder also.  
Beside the evil man stood 465 the unfaithful Typhlosion looking at Lopez with miserable crimson eyes, they were twinkling in a sadness that went for the boy. For the first time since 465 could remember, he felt sorry for a human. The boy looking terrible, skin which had been a healthy caramel was now yellow from water pressure and sickness – probably because of staying wet and untreated for so long – pale and vibrant on his face, his mouth gaunt and his once lively brown eyes had now dulled to no life inside them. Freshly peeled bruises and blisters were welting on his hands, shoulders, and back mostly, but some were located in the deep pores of his chest. 465 just wondered on what the legs looked like. Oh jeez.  
Aaron coughed, blood leaked from his lips and he hunched over as more globs of blood, juicy and sweet in his throat hurtled its way out. He felt as if someone had wrapped a big meaty hand around his throat and was choking him. But the blood leaving, felt as if a relief to his body, even though he knew that wasn't a good sign. God, he could be internally bleeding! Panic rose in his heart, and that black-eyed snake chomped its way around his deflated heart, it was snapping away veins and arteries, it burned as if a fire in his chest. Anderson smiled and laughed softly at Aaron's struggling, oh how was revenge so, so, sweet?  
"Feeling better, Private?"  
"No General." Aaron groaned subconsciously, the General surprised by his response punched him hard in the gut, blood leaked through his white teeth, staining them.  
"What, Private?"  
"I'm feeling better, sir." The General smiled, and the blood was rusty on Aaron's tongue.

It slid and plopped on the ground, Aaron was pretty sure he emptied his stomach.  
"Good, Private. Now, be a good little boy and put that shirt back on and go to the sign up desk, tell them General Anderson said you were assigned to _Chamber 23. _Make sure you make that clear, she might ask you again." The General's orders were flying over Aaron's head, he couldn't understand. Too delirious to take it all in, but he did know that he had to put on his shirt. So he reached for his white button down, not being able to help the cringe that came to him and the General's cruel high laugh. Aaron ignored him, and slid the shirt over him, it stung under his bruises and gashes, he was secretly afraid that the blood would sink through and Anderson would strip the comforting piece of thin cotton from him. God, he hoped the General would be too soaked up in his revenge to notice.

"Good boy, now off. Outta here. Go to the blue tent."

Aaron rushed out as fast as he could. His legs aching but they were faithful and took him out as fast as he could. Hot blood ran to his face as he felt the humidity of June flush in his cheeks, the absence of the warmth was missed and he embraced the heat defiantly. He scanned the planes and saw a cluster of people, most wearing a Camouflage uniforms badges branded against their chests, some were wearing his former uniform, the cedar cap and navy vest and pants, some were dressed casually – but these were rare. But everywhere, absolutely everywhere, were pokemon. Dog tagged, looking gloomy and obediently following their masters some giving hated expressions, others quiet and shy looking. From Caterpies to Tropius, they were there, no names and all.  
Suddenly among the midst of tents – since P.O.P wasn't actually a place but a bunch of tents nestled together – he spotted a dark blue swaying in the wind the posts bucking.

Aaron split though the crowd as fast he could, feeling stares and hearing hushed whispers.

"_Is that the Mexican Private that hit the private?"  
"Look at his shirt, it has so much blood!"  
_"_Dude, that guy has some damn good guts." _

Ugh. Stop talking! Aaron wanted to bellow out at them, he flew his way through feeling his face burn up with the embarrassment. He'd never been the center of attention before, and he wasn't sure if it was flattering or insulting. So confusing…. God he just needed….sleep.  
Stepping into the blue tent, he saw nothing but a few lawn chairs at the side an a fold up table laid on the grass, papers askew on it and pens twiddling in mug cups and one person stood there.  
A woman. 

Aaron not wanting to feel sexist, but he was surely surprised. He hadn't seen any women here, and had began to think that P.O.P just didn't handle women. He was obviously wrong. The woman was tall, a lean thin body with a navy suit that showed her curves very well, on her vest was a large broach of a Maple Leaf, showing that she was a Lieutenant. This also came to a big surprise to Aaron too, and he started to feel bad about his sexist feelings. Women are able to anything a men can do, that goes the same for men doing things women do. Then why did it feel like the girl just didn't belong? Her red bristly hair was wound up in a tight bun, thick framed glasses black as ink perched on the bump of her nose, she had a pen in her hands and was scribbling down in a notebook, her nose pretty much brushing the paper.

"Um…excuse me?" Aaron asked unsteady. He'd never been good at talking to girls before, and also he was covered in blood and his windpipe felt like it collapsed into his throat. The woman raised her eyes from the clipboard, showing beneath her thick rimmed glasses were large bright green eyes; they made Aaron's heart beat faster and his knees wobble. God, she was so… _natural _looking…. very _beautiful. _She smiled her perfect plump lips pink with the humidity, and the smile was absolutely kind. Aaron hadn't seen that in a while.  
"Can I help you?" God, her voice was like honey in his ears. _Say something, _his mind pleaded, _anything, I don't care, just say it. _He moved closer to the desk and spoke a bit louder, but it stung his throat painfully.  
"Uh, General Anderson sent me here, he said I was being re assigned to um…." Aaron poked his chin, looking in his mind for the number of the chamber…. 23! "Chamber 23?"  
The girl froze, her eyes widened and she opened her mouth in shock, and then shook her head looking deep into Aaron's eyes. It made his stomach do flip-flops.

"Are you sure… _Chamber 23?!"_ She whispered hysterically, glasses threatening to fall.  
"Um yeah, I'm sure… and you're glasses are kind of fall-"  
"Jesus! What the hell is that ass think he's doing?" She gave Aaron a skeptical look and eyed my bloodied button down. "You don't happen to be Aaron C. Lopez?"  
"Actually, the C. stands for Carlo-"  
"So you're Private Lopez?"  
"Yes."

She gave him an impressed look and then smiled gently, and put a soft hand on his shoulder, he almost flinched but he choked it down, though his heart fluttered. Aaron looked and at her side was an petite pokemon, a Skitty, eyes closed it was nestled up next to the girls arm, smile large on its face it had a deep throaty purr in his chest, and Aaron could feel its vibration. The Skitty got up and rubbed up next to Aaron's arm too, and licked his arm gently it felt soft and tingled up his arm pleasurably. Its hum of a purr hot on my skin, and I blushed under both their touches.  
"She likes you." The girl said softly.

"Thanks," I said uncertainly, as I raised a head to the Skitty's head and brushed its low-cut fur that was wonderfully soft in his fingers. "What's her number?" Aaron assumed that the Skitty was like any other pokemon around here, by the dog tag bound round her neck, numbered. The girl gave me a scowl and snorted deep and huffed as she picked up her Skitty and tucked it to her chest and it 'mewed' under her arms.  
"Her name isn't a _number, _it's Ariel." She said with a snort again, and then smiled at him softly, in apology. "_And _my names Elle." Aaron decided Elle was his new favorite name; it was absolutely beautiful in his ears and sounded like chimes to him. Oh yeah, that was his favorite name now.  
"I like Elle."  
She grinned. "So did my parents."

She suddenly tossed me a pair of keys, their bronze metal clinked in my hands, and then she smashed a brand new badge in his fingers an up symbol bronze with a flag in the middle. Major Sergeant. What?

"Why did you give me a new badge?"  
"Well to own a chamber you need to move up a few places, so there you go." A _few _places? Were seven a few? Confused but not having the energy for questioning, Aaron pinned the badge to his bloodied shirt and tucked the keys in his pants pocket. Suddenly he felt Elle's tugging fingers, he looked down and saw her emerald green fingernails.  
"Aaron, you gotta be careful. The General's a tricky person and Chamber 23 is well…. well not the quietest place anyway…" She sighed then smiled kindly, and Ariel mewed once more and leapt out of her arms and jumped onto her hind legs slender paws gentle on my cheeks she kissed my nose with her little tongue. The Skitty was absolutely the cutest and happiest Pokemon here, I had a feeling Elle had a part in it.

"She likes you a lot!" Elle laughed as she tore Ariel away and gave me a wink.  
"Anyway, Chamber 23 is the last tent to the left. The regular pokemon in there are off to training usually you'd go with them but, oh well." She sorted through a few papers. "Oh yeah, here's your list, there's a new arrival, a Quilava, number…849… be careful, he was just captured so they're always rowdy and well this one…. killed Lieutenant Hawthorn."

Aaron's jaw dropped. _The _Lieutenant Hawthorn!? The one who conducted armies for years? Not to mention an trainer of a Dragonite! Hawthorn DEAD!?! Was THIS why Grayson was upgraded. Of _course _it was! Aaron felt a bit nauseous, he _knew _Hawthorn… he had thought he was a jerk… he was given orders by him and cursed at… but Aaron couldn't help but feel his heart mourn deeply for the Lieutenant. His stomach began somersault and he covered his mouth, vomiting was becoming more fond.

"It _k-killed _him?"

"_He _killed Hawthorn, yes."

"HOW?"

She quirked an eyebrow and thick rimmed glasses gleamed in the sun. Ariel was sleeping in her arms, little breaths perking from her chest.

"What you a fan?"  
_No, GOD no, but…but…_

"Nah…. Just knew him and he didn't seem like the dying type."  
Elle laughed and placed a hand on my shoulder again, it prickled under her grip and she tilted her head, red strands of hair falling.  
"The Quilava scorched him somehow shot him in the leg defending a Cyndaquil. Probably a pup. He's famous around here now, well…I guess you _and _849 are the most famous ones here." She nudged me gently. "You popular guy."  
His heart stammered, god, he was going to be living with a homicidal Quilava…. Ugh….and he was popular for running away and hitting General in the shoulder?  
"So what exactly…do I DO in a Chamber?"

Elle laughed a bit, but then realized I was serious. She stuttered back to her normal voice and said.  
"Oh, you take care of a group of pokemon placed either by name…type…or behavior…" Aaron gave Elle a soft look and began to rub Ariel's twitching between his fingers, it was soft as silk.  
"Mines based on behavior…isn't it?"  
Elle gave a wobbly smile and nodded slowly.

"Yeah…sorta…"  
"Bad behavior?"  
"Real bad."

I cupped my face in my hands and groaned loud enough to hear, Elle sighed and put a hand on my head and tilted my head up by my chin. Oh God were her eyes so beautiful…  
"Hey buddy, I'm sure you can do it. Obviously by your record your life hasn't been all daises either, I actually think you'll be the best person for these poor pokemon…they just need someone to understand them….they don't give in like the other pokemon here…they're strong like you. Don't worry, they'll love you. Just treat back with as much love." Elle didn't care to mention their last caretaker had been run out the place. Aaron could feel his heart sing. She was encouraging him, being kind, and believed in him… he felt as if he could fly right now.  
"Now, big guy, your stuff should be there. Go get ready to meet your new pokemon and oh – take this…"  
She handed over a slim piece of paper with a list of names and pokemon listed, it said.

_**Chamber 23**_

**Furret Female 241**

**Scizor Male 721**

**Larvitar Male 694**

**Houndoom Male 743 **

**Ninetails Male 098**

**Umbreon Male 386**

_(new)_** Quilava Male 849 **

* * *

Ariel popped her head from the arms of her master Lieutenant Greenwood, she saw the boy – Lopez – walking away the list of his Chamber mates in his hands, crumbling under his fingers. Ariel sniffed, missing the Lopez boy already, she thumbed the dog tag that was wound her neck reading her number 610, even though it was a symbol of her imprisonment, it was some kind of sweet comfort. She glanced at Elle, seeing the girl's worried olive eyes behind the thick-rimmed glasses that were close to falling off. Ariel put her slender paws on top of Elle's soft cheeks and pushed up her glasses with the tip of her nose. She gave a soft mew and leapt from the desk, she knew where she had to go, this Lopez boy had to be taken seriously. Because in the scar tissue of Ariel's little heart, she knew that Lopez was her chance of breaking this place, and what she had heard from other pokemon – they felt the same swirling beat in their stomach that just _knew _that Lopez would be different. Of course, Elle was different also, she was kind to Ariel, gave her a name, and loved her unconditionally. But Elle never gave off this feeling of power, never gave the aroma of determination. But Lopez was stinking of it.  
"Ariel! What are you doing?"  
Ariel could hear the clumsy footsteps of Elle trying to maneuver a way around the desk to catch the overexcited Skitty. But Ariel was long gone; she dove through the tent flap, feeling the crunch of grass beneath her toes. She parted her way through large pokemon feet and thick leather encrusted boots, she sprinted as fast as she could eyes darting for an arched abandoned tent of a deep tan color, until she saw it pushed near the side of an oak tree. And in the entrance she saw three pokemon, a over grown Typhlosion with a facial scar dripping down his right eye brushing his lip, whom she knew was numbered 465, leaning against the Typhlosion's back was an Ledian with large heartbreaking watery blue eyes, dented bug shell and the supposed-to-be red was actually turning black, and Ariel knew her to be named as 234. And of course was the last pokemon, whom was the now deceased Lieutenant Hawthorn's partner, was a Manectric – smaller than most – its baby blue a deep purple instead from long bruising and yellow had become pasty with age, its dog tag wavered round its neck reading 509. 

465 raised his head from his rest, feeling the helpless 234 clutching onto his back, close to initiating his spots as they sprouted a soft warm aroma. He smiled crookedly seeing 610 (even though she hated being called that, she liked her _human _name) bounding from the crowd of people a wicked grin on her young face. 465 was quite fond of 610 – Ariel, she was incredibly brave and cocky, her young Lieutenant Greenwood sweet nature had given the Skitty a buffed up outlook on life. The Skitty, as they all were, was obsessed with escaping P.O.P and had founded The _Embassy _a group containing the most powerful pokemon positions in P.O.P, which included 610, 243, himself and – well it used to be – 509.

"You're late." 509 barked rudely, 509 had always had a grouchy attitude molded from the absolute cruelty of Hawthorn. 465 felt his heart burn remembering that Hawthorn had been the most evil out of the group of leaders, his abrupt death still caused his sensitive girth to bubble with confused mixed feelings.  
"I met Lopez." 465 couldn't help but smile, Ariel had dismissed the question as if some annoying fly around her head. Ariel gave them all stern looks, now all of them had met Lopez, and they knew that Ariel understood the strange power leaking from his aura.

"I think he's different than the other P.O.P soldiers." Said 234 softly, a bit shy-like. 234 had closed herself up in her shell and those gloomy watery eyes of hers, ever since her capture she had closed herself up and become quiet, afraid that talking would hurt her even in the presence of friends. This was a bold move for her and 465 and 509 looked at her in shock, Ariel on the other hand smiled and walked to 234 licking her cheek fondly.

"I agree 234."  
234 felt her heart rise and feel drunk of happiness. Ariel had always been brave and made 234 feel as if she could be like. Ariel was her utmost idol.

"But what are we going to do? How is _Sergeant Major _Lopez going to help us escape!?!" 509 howled, his temper flaring. He had felt the vibes of course, but he was unsure how this Lopez boy would help the _Embassy _with their plans of escape. And even more he was becoming frustrated by everyone's fascination with him. What was so special about Lopez? Yeah, he did something that 509 had wanted to do since he came, but still, how would he assist them? How could they know if he wasn't like any other heartless evil human? It made him angry, and even a bit envious of this newcomer. His back began to sparkle from his envy, and electricity was fumbling all around his heart.

"We're not sure yet, but I know it wont be him alone…. I just do…." 465 uttered to 509, seeing clearly distressed he used the gentlest tone which calmed 509 slowly.  
"What about that Quilava?" 234 peeped up, confidence rising with Ariel's appearance. 509 froze, but no one noticed the prickly feeling that was churning in his heart. 465 nodded puckered his lips and said huskily.

"Yeah, what's his number again? I mean if he can kill Hawthorn then he's _got _to be important." 509 snarled, and everyone knew why. It was because this Quilava had stolen his chance to kill Hawthorn, had snatched it from his paws and now his goal of life was gone. Dead or not, 509 wanted to be the one to hurt him, this being proof from his deep cuts in his back from the pleasure of Hawthorn himself.

"849," 509 growled deeply, "His number is 849, he should be getting branded as we speak. But we shouldn't trust him! He's going to be sent to _Chamber 23 people!" _465 felt hate pound in his veins, Chamber 23. Their enemy of all, Chamber 23 had always been a problem causing mess and being to audacious, but at the same time idiotic. They had fouled all of the _Embassy's _plans slowly with their stupid clumsy help. 234 sighed softly, she looked at the three with trusting eyes.

"I don't think Chamber 23 is so bad, I think they just are a bit rowdy is all…"  
"Rowdy?" 465 rumbled from hate, "They're _IDIOTS _they've messed up all our plans and that _Judge! _Ugh!" 509 huffed in agreement, his hate filling him up also like a balloon full of helium floating him away to conclusions. Ariel groaned, smashed a paw into the ground and glared at the two boys in absolute anger, she was don't of being shut up.

"He's not even IN Chamber 23 yet! Not only that but they've actually TRIED to help us! Unlike any other stupid Chamber here, they're actually STRONG! AND DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT JUDGE THAT WAY!"

"610, please, under-" 465 tried to make amends, didn't work.

"NO! MY NAME IS NOT 610!" She was in 465's face now, eyes hot. She roared angrily, and 234 and 509 moved slowly away 465 frozen in place. "MY NAME IS **ARIEL **GET IT THROUGH YOUR SICK MIND 465 THAT I'M NOT SOME HUMAN'S DEVICE. _MY NAME WILL NEVER BE A FUCKING NUMBER!"_

Ariel snorted, and felt her anger begin to subside. 465 had not right to talk about the Judge that way the Judge had always been kind to her, he'd been a father to her when she had been placed in Chamber 23 before Elle taken a liking to her. Her name had been May then.

465 looking astonished and then sorry he hung his head, he had forgotten…the pain 6-Ariel had gone through, of her leaving the Judge…of her being a member of Chamber 23. Once a member, you're always a member.  
"I'm sorry 61-Ariel. Please forgive me." He asked with pleading crimson eyes, his scar soft along with his face. Ariel smiled, and hugged him tightly, hot tears slipping from her eyes. _I have to remember the _Embassy _has been just as kind… _But it isn't the same, her thoughts intervened, the _Embassy _has been kind…but not loving…. She gave 465 one last squeeze that parted from him, eyes puffy with tears she sniffled.

"Sorry 465….its just well you know…" 465 nodded, understanding in his eyes.  
"Its alright 61-Ariel, I shouldn't have been disrespectful to the judge. He has been kind to you."  
"Yes he has."  
509 and 234 then went up to Ariel eyes sad from her hurt, she had been parted from her family and it must be hurting her they all thought as they pulled her into sweet succulent embraces hearts full. They loved her, but she didn't believe that.  
"We l-love you Ariel." 234 stuttered softly in her hug, and Ariel's heart twisted with affection for the young Ledian. She hugged back hungrily, and felt the tears sputter rapidly now. Such affection had been lost in the splurge of duty, and Ariel, 234, 465, and even 509 were craving it. The only way to refill it was with love, the _Embassy _was in long need of it.  
"I love you too, all of you." Ariel spoke gently in 234's head, and 509 doing something absolutely unpredictable kissed her cheek and pulled her in tighter. 465 didn't join, he was older than all of them, and even if his heart was crying out for love, because unlike everyone else he had lost his memory…. He couldn't remember love. Had he been loved? The question was haunting him with much grief. But he sucked in his aching love, and watched as others exchanged it. He needed to be the leader, the leader never gave in.  
Ariel slowly tore from all their arms and smiled weakly. 509 bowed his head, and 234 gave a sweet joyous giggle. Ariel then turned to 465 a wicked glint in her eyes.  
"I've got a plan for you."

* * *

Aaron collapsed on his cot. It was broken down, lumpy, but almost heaven to his sore muscles. Aaron groaned knowing he would have to apply salve and water to them later, which did not go well with him. Scrunching up his face he sighed as he heard a bumptious knock echo the small Cabin's door, it rapped and Aaron groaned limping his way to it. The Chambers were not tents, but small Cabins, equipped with three rooms, one was, the Pokemon's chambers where their cages were located and their food dishes were laid out it was dull dank and dark, Aaron flicked a light on to put on a lighter mood. The next room, was a bathroom….or more of a port-a-potty. Then there was the Sergeant Major room, or Aaron's equipped with a dresser, cot, lamp, and Aaron's guitar.  
Aaron opened the door, seeing a young boy with curly brown locks and a crooked nose looking at him with gold eyes. He was wearing an navy uniform, a sack of potatoes at his feet and a wobbly smile on his lips.  
"Um…hello? Are you Sergeant Major Lopez?" He asked uncertain, and obviously disturbed by Lopez battered appearance his voice quaked.  
"Yes. You are?"  
The boy straightened up eyes wide and heart blooming, he put a hand to his forehead and spoke loudly. Perfect army action.  
"Your food supplies sir!"  
"Uh, thank you?"  
"Your welcome sir Lopez!"  
And he threw the potatoes in, slammed the door and the boy ran as fast his legs could carry him. Terrified Lopez would act out on him.  
Aaron blinked in surprise, but then shrugged, grabbing the large potato sack mouth and dragging it in, glancing at Chamber 23's charred walls. Oh, he sooo did not want to know how those happened. Slamming it down in his bedroom, he sighed, and laid back on his cot, wrapping himself up in his thin quilt he snatched his Guitars handle and began to play, his heart weeping and the Guitar sung its way to show it a soft low melody wafted around empty Chamber 23.  
Suddenly a movement came from the potato sack, Aaron too drowned in his song to care, did not notice, the long snout that peeked from its mouth. The Cyndaquil that leaped from the sack, was tranced by the Guitar copper eyes wide, and scarf that was wrapped round his thin neck flew backwards and forwards. The Cyndaquil approached closer, eyes now closed, he swayed to the music. Aaron looked to his side. 

"_AHHHHHHHH!!?!"_

"_C-C-C-C-C-Y-Y-YNDAQUIL!" _

* * *

**Authors Notes- **Thanks for reading, and this chapter was extra long jeez. But hey, at least, its done. Do you like Aaron's character? And the Embassy? Tell me in reviews please. 

**What happens next Stormiie?**

Lots and lots. Nuri is found along with our Tyson - or 849 -. Nuri discovers a tunnel leading to a place the pokemon trapped in called 'The Messor' and a smart fiesty Pikachu named Belle. Tyson finally discovers Chamber 23, and the evil constructor 465. Whats this guys deal? And will Aaron fit in through his ranks, and earn Chamber 23's respect? Will he keep Nuri a secret?

Find out in **The Messor.**


End file.
